Essy The Poet

  I can’t begrudge you for luck, though you may seem lucky to many. I instead hail the epitome of stoicism that you have built. It is the real deal, the real legacy, the conquest of the flesh! Choking off the indulgence of desire, and aha! You. You are freedom made flesh! You are the unbroken, unbreakable record!   I can’t begrudge you for your childhood, though it may sound like it spoke to you. I instead applaud the strand that stood out, that escaped excuses. The refusal to be blown into the crowd of nothingness. The attitude of all and everyone that murders the individual, iro   Muren ! You are freedom made flesh! You are the unbroken, unbreakable record!   I can’t begrudge you your kindred, though now they shine through you.   I instead commend your intellect, that subdued the brawny inclinations. To sleep less and train more, to eat bland and to solid muscle grind.   The profound ire that detests sloth, and uh! Man… You are freedom made flesh! Yo...

He comes again, for souls to gain He comes in word, all broken He comes in deed, all bleeding He comes in love, all wounded He comes today, an infantly guise. Low in the Crib, crushed on the Cross , poured into  Chalice Still, He comes.   He comes in a manger, in all simplicity To make it easy, to meet and greet Him His choice is love, love without a trave So we can gift Him, with presents free of grim For here He comes! Packaged and stacked, my gifts are wrapped The inadequacy and lack, I see in the children The strife in the world, drenched in greed My weary being, battered and beaten The aridity of my soul, yearning for more The sterility of hearts, seeking consolation For here He comes!   Recharge your memory of the little infant On hay He lay, to push to bay All strife that broods, despair on His heirs Unburden all, to the prince of peace, He is man, He knows, He fixes them all For here He comes! Do not be re...

Kerichosburg The city of Eden, dare I say! Has got it all, but this…. She’s got the taverns and the temples She’s got the varsities and vast teas She’s got the inns and sumptuous blini She’s got churches charging with moral rectitude She’s got industries and commerce, all diverse She’s got castles, penitentiaries and phrontisteries   Kerichosburg The city of Eden, dare I say! Has got it all but this …. Amidst the tea lakes, green meadows Remains surmountable for it lacks the seat The fair Lady of wisdom, the morning star Wields not the sceptre yet. All but this.   Kerichosburg Comes the fair Mother, by day and by night. For the fair charmer, the prelate, the Colonel, Makes her room within the Polis’ heart. Wherein wisdom will flow, shaping leaders Wherein wisdom will spew appealing to the heart Wherein discernment will flow, sowing peace in people’s hearts. From where bells of Angelus shall ring! Awakening the city to prayers...

I know where poverty is.   I have seen him with my two eyes, a rich thing. It is in the little stores cracked into my heels Where we store devalued coins sometimes.   It is on the ribs of my little brother Bold, bulging, and dauntingly sharp. It is in the bowed old shack that is my mother’s hearth   Awaiting the wind’s command to give in and fall. It is in the two black eyes seeping through my school dress, Through which my backside breathes.   I know how poverty feels, A constant nagging cry of insufficiency. It is the dream valley whose sands drag the feet backwards, It is the dejected face reprimanded undeservedly, It is the violent terror that carries no weapons, It is the fear of consuming a meal placidly Because tomorrow is not assured. It is the pain of inequality That sends you drooling over a neighbour’s meal. That drives away the shame of mockery.   Well, this poverty I have seen, Is nothing compared to the...

At thirty-Six  The man, the shepherd, the priest; so gentle, never raised his fist.  Stands taller than most, but not with without cost  On his chest hangs a silver cross, a long-term consort of his. Be not beguiled, for he seems glamorous, in the laces of Rome.  His heart has been broken, into thirty-six thousand pieces,  Yet holding on to the cross for solace, he grapples on.  His faith has been interrogated, into thirty-six thousand shreds of doubt, Yet holding on to the Holy cross for solace, he grapples on.  His actions have been scrutinized, in lenses multiples of thirty- six,  Yet holding on to the cross for solace, he grapples on.  His nights have sometimes dragged, lonely and lengthy hours seeming like thirty-six, Yet holding on to the cross for solace, he grapples on.  His dreams have been thwarted, voices of intimidation far beyond thousands of thirty-sixes,  Yet holding on to the cross for solace, he grapples on. His enc...

Nothing's more menacing than a slow hand.  The tumtum dragged behind a slow band.  And the apple tart kneeded by a slow hand, I wasn't sure I saw right, his slow eye.  Begot a lazy harvest but not a lazy eater.  A creole of sorts, its genesis, a slow tongue  Caused a few slow linguistic deaths.   I forgive them all though; The slow hand, the slow eye, the slow tongue.  But a slow mind,  I shall never fall into that concession! 

A childhood acquaintance of mine proposes Nay, implies a separation of convenience He reveals to me lately, how his heart gets drawn And his mind is swooped by a scavenger of pawn. Into some new awakening of sorts. His eyes speak, his nose snorts His heart beats for the mercenary narcissist.   Glacial were the days, when I lost my buddy Indoctrination was so cruddy, braving towards the bloody Stop friend! Think friend! Wait friend! I won’t flee If you went to the trouble, I’d end up in Lee Or maybe the city morgue, never accorded an orgue The killing of a buddy by a buddy, a sad smorg Traitorous, callous, ruthless, a death of two souls.   I won’t take flight, from a friend’s fright. I shall endure bravely, the sword of adversary But a boon companion, whose pudenda I have won! From whom I have lent and borrowed? Whose daughter, my son might falter for? My childhood buddy, my teenage rascal, my adult theologian. Should we fall out, over an avaricious self-seeking rascal?  ...